


A Hard Woman To Please

by sterlingsuspenders



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dirty Talk, F/M, M/M, PWP, Polyamory, WWII era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 18:37:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4490388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sterlingsuspenders/pseuds/sterlingsuspenders
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Peggy are together. Steve and Bucky—they're working on it.<br/>Bucky, he's got a filthy mouth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Hard Woman To Please

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place in a somewhat complicated AU constructed by myself and my friend @sahraylia, on tumblr. I intend to turn this into a series and write more fic in this universe (and especially write more fic that expand the AU itself, rather than this--which is just blatant porn that happens to take place within the AU.)  
> For now, this is what I've got. And I hope you enjoy it.

Steve and Peggy are together. Steve and Bucky—they're working on it.

But after clumsy, panicked “I love you”s in the wake of being half-way sure the both of them were dead, they still haven't found the courage for more than a couple chaste kisses. Bucky would have thought that after a lifetime of wanting something he thought he couldn't have, he'd be more cavalier than this, but he's still trying to wrap his head around the whole ordeal.

“Are you sure Peggy's—I mean I know she said she was but, you sure she's really okay with all this?” There's an underlying question that Bucky's too ashamed to put to words: are you sure she won't tell anyone? He doesn't ask, because he already knows.

Steve waves the question; Bucky's asked it half a dozen times in the last week. “Are you?” He asks, settling in the chair across from the couch where Bucky's sitting.

Maybe Bucky's supposed to be jealous, but honestly? He's glad to have the cover of Steve and Peggy's relationship. Well—cover isn't exactly the right word. Not when Steve and Peggy are just as much a real, loving couple as he and Steve are. It's—well, it's a strange arrangement, he'll give it that. But it works. It feels comfortable. And having Peggy in the spotlight means that nobody will look twice at the best friend who's touches maybe linger a little longer than they should.

“Since when have I been the jealous type?” He scoffs.

“Since always,” Steve volleys back, a sideways grin on his face. “I can't prove it, but I'm pretty sure at least a couple of those girls turned me down because you sabotaged me.”

Bucky, he always liked taking girls to bed, but the only person he can ever remember being in love with was Steve. He kept hoping he'd grow out of that. He never did.

“Hey, it's not my fault they couldn't appreciate your willowy, asthmatic beauty,” he teases and Steve laughs.

“ _Willowy, asthmatic beauty_. Unbelievable. You should write poetry, Buck.” Steve's still shaking with laughter--it's one of those genuine, big belly-laughs that lights Steve up like a Christmas tree and Bucky couldn't hide his grin if he tried.

“If I did, I wouldn't write about you, punk.”

“Keep tellin' yourself that,” Steve says and Bucky just rolls his eyes. (To be fair, Steve isn't _wrong_. Not that Bucky would ever admit it.)

“So, what's the deal with you and Peg?” Bucky redirects. He's curious. They were together first, even if he and Steve had been harboring feelings for a lifetime. “How's that going?”

“We're good. Great, actually. She's—an amazing woman.” Steve gets a far-off look in his eyes and Bucky laughs.

“You're smitten,” he teases, “It's disgusting.”

Steve nudges Bucky's knee with his foot. “You should see what happens when I talk about you.”

Bucky makes a face. “You don't go all ga-ga like that, do you?”

“Mhmm.” Steve nods and Bucky laughs.

“Oh god, _spare me_.” He rolls his eyes. “So you and Peggy? You're happy?” Some best friend habits never die, and making sure that Steve Rogers is being treated right is definitely one of them. If he wasn't halfway terrified of her, he might even have given Peggy the Shovel Talk. (The Shovel Talk—aka, you break his heart and I find somewhere no one will find you and bury you with a shovel.)

“I know what you're doing,” Steve warns, even though he can't seem to keep the smile off his face. “And _yes_ , we're happy. Very happy.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Very happy, huh? Cause, no offense, a woman like that must be—ah—a handful to keep satisfied.” He winks.

He expects Steve to blush, to laugh it off, to call him a punk. What he doesn't expect is the way that Steve's eyes go a little unfocused—how he licks his lips and murmurs, “She's not an easy woman to please.” The low rumble of his voice shocks straight down Bucky's spine.

The words are out of his mouth, low and warm, before he has time to think about them.

“You take good care of her, don't you, Stevie?”

 _Now_ , Steve blushes, but he doesn't back down or try to change the subject. He knows exactly what Bucky's doing and he lets him. “Well,” he stumbles, “I haven't heard any complaints.”

Bucky could take this slow, ease his way into it. But the risk is so worth it when his next words draw a sharp groan out of Steve. “Tell me you've gotten your mouth on her.” Steve sits up a little straighter, but Bucky sinks into his seat, knees falling apart. He doesn't miss the way Steve looks. “Fuck, I love the sound women make when you eat them out.”

Steve makes this noise like he's dying. Or like he choked on his drink. “I—I'm not— _Bucky_.”

Bucky's laugh is half a moan. “You have, haven't you? How? On your knees?” The thought alone is overwhelming, and he palms himself through his pants. Steve is staring, mouth half open. “She sit on that pretty face of yours?”

Steve's only answer is a thin groan, arm slung over his eyes like he can't bare to look.

Bucky gets self-indulgent now that Steve isn't looking. He closes his eyes and moans, head tipped back against the couch. He rocks up against his hand, and Steve must have opened his eyes because he can hear the sharp intake of breath that follows the action. “C'mon, Stevie,” he urges, “How does she touch you? She as dangerous as she looks?”

When he opens his eyes and looks at Steve, his stare is all dark want and hunger. There's something forbidden and filthy about this and it just makes it better. He's never touched Steve, but he can see him—hard through his trousers.

“She leave marks? If I got that shirt off you,” and oh, what a promise, “would I know exactly where she likes to put her mouth?”

Steve bites down on his lip and nods and Bucky shudders. “Oh, christ, Steve. D'you like it?”

Steve nods again, adding a breathy little, “y-yeah,” that has Bucky gasping. He wants to get Steve talking. He wants to know exactly what she does to have him looking like _that_.

Bucky tips his head back again, like the view of the ceiling could somehow help him compose himself when he can still hear Steve's heavy breath across from him. “ _God,_ Steve. _Please_ tell me how you fuck her.”

Steve _whines_.

It's endearing, the way he stumbles over himself when he tries to answer. Steve's just so unbelievably earnest about everything; there's no attempt at seduction when he first starts, just this gentle honesty that has Bucky beaming. “I always start slow, because I know she likes it.” He's in love with an actual angel, honestly. He tries to get Steve to talk filth and instead he gets this, and he doesn't know why he expected anything different. He can't keep himself from smiling.

“Yeah?”

“S-sometimes—”

Bucky glances over and sees the taut line of Steve's body—the way he presses the heel of his hand against his groin like he's trying to keep himself in check. Bucky bites down on his groan, afraid that interrupting could mean Steve losing his nerve and stopping completely.

“Sometimes she rolls us over and she—on my lap—I can't—”

There's molten heat pooling in Bucky's veins and he's begging when he moans, “please don't stop.”

It's like he flips a switch, and even though there's still something a little bit bashful to the way Steve talks, there's confidence, too—like he's realized just how much power he's got over Bucky, right now. He licks his lips and Bucky's eyes stay locked on his mouth. “She looks so beautiful like that, Buck. The way she moves—” His voice drops to barely more than a whisper, eyes gone distant when he thinks about it. “She touches herself and she—fuck, I've never seen anything like it.”

Bucky's never heard Steve talk like this and it has him running so hot he thinks he might boil over. He can't take it—reaches down clumsy and desperate to tug himself out of his pants and can't help the feeling of triumph when Steve can't look away.

It's embarrassing how close he feels. “Fuck, Steve,” he gasps, “m'gonna come—”

“Wait—!” The word rings out sharp and sudden and Bucky obeys without a thought. His pupils wide, he moves his hand to his thigh and grips tight as he can like that could ground him. They stare at each other for what feels like an eternity, both of them wide-eyed and and breathless, unable to look away.

Bucky feels like his whole body is on fire. His voice sounds high and thin even to his own ears when he murmurs a wavering, “Kiss me?”

And then it's like time picks back up again, and everything moves all at once—Steve rushing out of his chair and into his lap, taking Bucky's face in his hands and kissing him hard and sloppy and desperate. They've never kissed like this, never touched like this, and all Bucky can think about is how he wants _more_.

He's clumsy and frantic when he goes for Steve's belt, unwilling to break the kiss and fumbling with the zip of Steve's trousers.

“Holy shit, Buck,” Steve gasps against his mouth, and Bucky would do anything to get Steve cursing like that all the time. It affects him in a way that's visceral—makes him roll his hips up and groan at the contact. Bucky gets Steve out of his pants and Steve makes a sound that Bucky wants to bottle. “I've never—” Steve gasps, and Bucky nods.

“Me either.” Steve's not the first man he's ever wanted, but he's the first one he's ever let himself have. And touching him like this feels searing and electric—foreign and familiar. He can't get enough of it.

Steve tucks his face in the crook of Bucky's neck when Bucky gets a hand around them both. Steve's cock is fever-hot up against his own, leaking wet from the slit. He hasn't touched himself this entire time and Bucky honestly wants to congratulate him for the restraint—Bucky, for one, has never had any.

“You're unreal,” Bucky groans. He was already close—he knows he isn't going to last long. But from the way Steve is panting against his throat, he doesn't think Steve will make it much longer, either.

“I'm unreal?” Steve sounds so deliciously breathless, “You're the one who just—god, have you ever heard the way you _talk_.” All at once, his body shudders and he grips Bucky's shoulders so, so tight, and Bucky knows he's almost there.

“I'm not hearing you complaining,” he teases, even if the words are breathless and heady. Even if he can barely think past the weight of the man in his lap. Steve's reply is a muffled noise that could honestly mean anything. It's hard to think past the way Steve rocks his hips, fucking into Bucky's grip. Or how one of his hands has tangled in Bucky's hair and, _wow_ who knew he liked that so much?

“So I know how you fuck Peggy,” he sighs, barely able to string words together with how hot he feels, how _close_. “Now—now I wanna know how you'll fuck me.”

Steve comes with a gasp, his whole body shaking with it. Bucky isn't far behind.

They stay tangled together on the couch for a long time.

\---

They come to Peggy looking bashful and uncertain. It's even worse, trying to put words to exactly what they'd done, and how it had happened. She wasn't there—they didn't technically do anything _wrong_ , but it still felt... weird, getting each other off talking about her without her knowing about it.

She listens with an amused expression that neither one of them knows how to interpret. Which means they wind up babbling just to fill the silence. When they finally come to a stop, she smirks at them.

“You ought to invite me, next time,” she says, looking smug, “The real thing is much better than talk.”


End file.
